Will Live in Infamy
by MidniteDancer
Summary: America, as per tradition, returns to Pearl Harbor for the 70th anniversary. He visits the Arizona and Missouri. But, unlike the usual, history seems to be talking back this time.   In memorial of all who died.


The white structure looked like it was sinking into the harbor. Well, to Alfred it did at least. As if it was once a straight, strong rectangle, but the history was making it sag in the center. America's flag waved in the Hawaiian breeze, straight above the structure. As the boat drew nearer he could see the rusted stump of the tower.

The boat was empty. It was October, an off season for Pearl Harbor. It was also past closing time. But he had managed to convince the young soldier to take him out to the Memorialofthe_USS__Arizona_. The sky was turning a purpleish hue so the lights came on, illuminating the structure like a ghost of the past.

When they docked and he stepped off, the young soldier saluted him. He could feel the importance and patriotism of this guy. Almost as if he embodied America itself, even his '50' bomber jacket seemed to represent that. He would die for this man.

Alfred saluted back then walked inside.

The entrance room was enclosed with flags on either side, state flags, and a large rectangular opening in the back wall leading to the other room. That room was made open because of the multiple windows in its ribs. He walked straight on, past the windows and the opening in the floor that let you look onto the tomb. He walked straight into the back room.

The room was large but he was no longer alone. In front of him, engraved stark black against the pure marble, were the names of the 1,177 men who were killed in the bombing. The only windows were the negative spaces that make the Living Tree. He stood and stared at the image that had been engraved in his mind and history since the memorial was erected.

1, 102 men. Trapped and killed before they even knew what happened. 1,102 men willing to die for him though some didn't even have a chance to fight yet. 1,102 men without heroic stories or deeds, that's the saddest part. Only God knows what they could have been capable of.

He climbed the steps until he was face to face with the men. He spoke the words of the plaque that they surrounded, the one he's seen so many times before he didn't even have to look at it, "To the memory of the gallant men here entombed and their shipmates who gave their lives in action on December 7, 1941 on the USS Arizona." The men, their first and middle initial, last name, and rank, remained silent save for the soft lapping of the water.

He stepped back down and saluted the men before leaving the room.

He leaned against the railing of the opening to look down into the water that was lapping and slowly corroding the metal beneath him. He smiled when he remembered coming here the last time. He decided to come in late November, tourist season. There was a marching band that was talkative on the boat and, to his dismay, he'd expected them to be chatty inside as well. It's to be expected with teenagers. But no, as soon as they stepped onto the dock they went quiet save for the clicking of cameras. He'd smiled to himself.

A leader of the band laid a wreath in front of the men, adding to the pile of flowers. Then they went out and surrounded the area he was looking into now, took off the orchid leis they were wearing, and tossed each flower individually into the water. The harbor ate them hungrily.

He moved to a window to the right and looked down. In the electric light he could see the dark inky blots that slowly bloomed on the surface of the water before being carried off like the flowers.

He inhaled deep then sighed before moving across the floor to the front. But he paused, believing for just a second that he heard their voices. He turned and nodded at the men in solemn thanks before returning to the boat.

He still had one more location to visit before heading back to Washington.

~X~

The Memorial of the _USS__Oklahoma_ was on land. Each of the 429 men were given a post, a marble rail, in the ground. They stood erect and protective in front of the road that lead to the _USS__Missouri_.

The metal goliath loomed in the background. The _Missouri_was out on maneuvers on December 7th. Now it sat back in Pearl Harbor, a tourist attraction. But here, too, it was deserted.

He had spoken to someone earlier and lights now washed the metallic structure.

Alfred walked through the unlocked gates and across the bridge. The bridge was lined with his flag. In front of him were the flags of the states whose ships were hit that day.

The battleships had gone slightly obsolete by the time he entered the war, aviation had taken over. The _Missouri_ was the last built. But the nation remembered when they were first constructed. Such power! Even now, this ship seemed a formidable foe to anyone standing in its shadow. It sometimes seemed difficult to remember that one of these giants still lay in the harbor, not 2oo yards away.

The _Missouri_ also had the honor of being the signing place of the Japanese Instrument of Surrender, September 2, 1945, marking the end of WWII.

Removing the rope from the stairs he began his ascent onto the behemoth. He looked at the thick black chains that held the ship to the dock, the real wooden decks, and the massive 14 inch guns. When he snapped his attention back in front of him he noticed a man standing there.

He was dressed in the white navy uniform of the period and smiling at him. He saluted. Alfred saluted back then waved the man at ease, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"'m name's Edward Lane. Some people just call me Lane, others Ed. Don't really matter." Alfred noted the smiling sailor's accent was slightly Midwestern. "Just wanted to get back on one of these ol' things," he gazed at the ship around him, "She ain't the _Arizona_ but she's somethin'."

A red flag, "You like the _Arizona_ better?"

Lane gave a slight chuckle, "She was special to me." He made to walk away but turned back to the nation, "C'mon, we'll take a tour."

Deciding he liked this guy, Alfred followed him. They walked alongside a metal wall for a time until they came to a door with a sign in the glass that read "1940's Crew Berthing". Under the window was a plaque that warned "Controlled Area". The seaman turned back to Alfred with a grin, "Ya ever been in one of these?" Alfred gave a small smile and nodded, "Crammed as hell. It's a good thing we were close cuz there was _no_ privacy!" he grasped the handle, "Let's check 'er out."

Alfred paused, "Uh, but…" he pointed to the plaque.

Lane waved it off, "They just don't want the public trampin through here. C'mon." He opened the door, nudged the sign aside, and stepped over the rope into the room.

_Should__I__follow__him?_ He pondered a moment before hopping over the ropes after him.

The bunks were tight and close together. Lane seemed to slide through it with ease while Alfred felt clumsy following. They finally made it to the open door and slid into the metal hallway, "There's so much history here," Lane said, continuing down the corridor, "The air's thick with it. Like a storm." Alfred had to agree.

They wound their way through the interior, roped off area of the ship, sometimes talking, often not; they were content to walk through history of their own memories. They ended climbing up several flights of stairs until they were one the top of the tower.

America breathed in deep as he looked around the harbor. The buildings shone in the electric light; the water glittered under the moon. He could even see the oil slick still seeping out of the_Arizona_. Its memorial was a ghost over the dark water that holds the bodies of over a thousand soldiers.

"Quite a sight, ain't it?"

Alfred turned to Lane who was leaning against the guardrail, staring down at the _Arizona_. He nodded. The sounds of the water, of the Hawaiian night, filled the quiet. He spoke softly, "They were good men, even if I wasn't able to meet every one of them. I bet when they said they'd give tier lives for their country thy imagined something different."

Land shrugged, "Perhaps. They did die in battle—"

"They died in a bombing," Alfred's voice was sharp, "They didn't have time to fight."

The seaman's face darkened, "Yes. A lot of 'em didn't have time to fight, did they?" The quiet stretched taunt as they brooded. "'s queer, ain't it. That so many Japanese come here, of all places."

Alfred looked at him, slightly shocked and confused, "What do you mean?" Even Kiku had come to visit on several occasions, although it wasn't an easy experience, "That was decades ago. Generations change. Countries change. They were doing their duty as much as we were."

The other man's face softened, "So it really is over, ain't it?" Alfred watched as Lane flipped to lean his back and elbows against the rail. He smiled, "'s weird. Soon as I knew I was dead I wanted to meet ya," Alfred froze, "I'm glad… how do y'all say it? Glad our sacrifice wasn't in vain." He chuckled before turning to give a casual salute, "It was an honor meeting ya, America. Don't forget history, but don't cling to it. Glad to see you've moved on."

Alfred blinked before melting into a smile. He saluted as well, "Me too. There're more people out there who need a hero, I couldn't worry about this forever!"

Lane dropped his arm and laughed, "I'm sure. Good luck with that!" And he was gone. He didn't fade or go into a light. Merely he was there one half-second, and gone the next.

Alfred was alone on the tower. Everything was still and the same. He turned back out to the illuminated remembrance over the _Arizona_ and smiled.

* * *

><p>I had the privilege to go to Pearl Harbor with the band to participate in the 70th anniversary and the Waikiki Holiday parade as well. (Excellent crowd, by the way! Surprisingly far less rude than Pennsylvanian parades...) Anyway, this has been brewing in my head for days now. I finally got it online.<p>

I can only hope I did it justice.

We Will Always Remember.


End file.
